Alone Together
by Swamp Fairy
Summary: All of humanity has been wiped out in a single, horrific blow. The only two survivors: Peter Bishop and Olivia Dunham. Now the question is how long they will survive, severely injured and trapped on an alien plant. The answer? Not long. Bolivia & Jolivia.


**A rather depressing, AU story. Slightly... well, more than slightly... bloody. Bolivia (Peter-Olivia) and Jolivia (John-Olivia). Sadly enough, I own nothing.**

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War. There's no possible way to describe it. Anyone can try to describe the acrid stench of burned flesh, try to convey the horror of the unrecognizable lumps of what used to be living people. Anyone can attempt to tell you about the silence in the air, broken only by muffled screams of pain or desolate sobbing. Anyone can try to convey the the horrible taste of salt and blood clogging up your throat, or the pain, not only in your body but also in your soul.

Olivia Dunham dragged herself through the horrible carnage, trying to avoid using her legs. Blood trailed behind her and her clothes were torn to shreds. Bodies were everywhere, she couldn't avoid crawling over them. Her hair hung in limp strands, drenched to the core with blood. The wind, full of grit, kept pushing it in her face and open mouth. It slipped down her throat and she gagged, spitting up blood. She didn't know where she was trying to go, she just knew she had to get away from all the death.

One arm twisted and went out. She fell face down on a corpse. Retching, she tried to push herself off of it and recognized the face and the sickly red tufts of hair still left. Nina Sharp. Olivia vomited up everything in her stomach and a little bit more and just lay there, lacking the strength to move.

Slowly, her brain registered the sinking sun and rising moon. It was freezing, but she could barely move. There was no way she could get warm. Her whole body was spasming out of control, limbs twitching. She had inhaled some of the numbing gas from the bomb, but just as she had not gotten hit hard by the explosion, she didn't get enough of the gas to hold back the pain.

It was so, so stupid. Every human being, from the US to China to Australia, had been strapped into a spaceship and shot up here. "Only chance of survival," the government said. And sure enough, as they stared longingly back at the blues and greens of Earth, the bomb had hit, appearing out of nowhere. Only one world could survive the battle between universes- and theirs had lost. The government had tried to save them, but in the end, it made no difference.

It had all been a trap. They had been lured there, lured to where the bomb was set. When it had gone off, there was nerve gas in it, to dull any pain. Olivia didn't know why she wasn't dead right now. Everyone else was. She had missed most of the explosion, but it still should have killed her. But now, she just didn't care.

"Olivia?" a voice called. Now she was imagianing things. Hallucinating. She regarded the lump moving slowly toards her with intrest. Maybe it wasn't a hallucination. Maybe it would kill her. She hoped so, in the small part of her mind that was still awake.

"Olivia! My god," it called. It's voice was rough and low. It was coming closer, but she didn't strain her eyes. It would get here when it got here, and she didn't care any more than that.

It got closer, and Olivia's entire mind slapped itself back up. It was Peter, dragging himself on his left arm and leg. He was soaked in blood, but it was unmistakably him. Olivia thanked god and anyone else up there for letting him be alive, at least for a little while more.

"Peter!" she called, summoning up what little strength to drag herself forwards a few more inches until she got to him. Then she collapsed onto him, unable to hold it all in anymore, sobbing until she couldn't make another sound, couldn't cry another tear. Looking up at Peter, she saw that he had been crying too. The blood had washed away in streaks, giving him the look of a painted Indian warrior. Half laughing, she reached up to wipe away a little more of the blood. He drew his fingers through her tangled hair, arms wrapped around her.

"Is there… anyone else?" she choked out, clinging to his chest. "Any of our friends still alive?"

Peter suddenly looked sick. "No. Thank god I found them and you didn't. They were all together. Walter had been in the back, Astrid trying to shield him. Broyles fell a little ways away. Your sister…"

"What?" asked Olivia, not sure she wanted to know.

"She didn't want Ella to have to fight. She stole a bottle of pills and… and… they died peacefully, before the bomb went off."

Olivia couldn't breathe. Her baby sister and niece… suicide. Astrid, Walter, Broyles… blown up. Peter… alive. She pressed her head against his chest, hearing his beating heart. She sat like that for a while, tears she didn't know she still had in her dripping down her face as she tried to cling to the fact that she wasn't alone. The blood slowly pooled under them.

Finally, she glanced up at Peter. "I wish I was dead."

"No, no, Olivia, never," he murmured, holding her at arms length to inspect her.

"My legs," she explained, shifting. Though she was bloody all over, her legs were the worst by far. Blood drenched them already, oozing from the long gashes all over them. Her feet were not attached quite right anymore.

"Wow, you got it bad," he said, frowning, then pulled off his shirt and began tearing it up.

"Don't bother," she whispered, putting her hand over his. "I'll be dead soon anyways."

"I know," he said, a catch in his throat. He suddenly seemed so desolate, it scared Olivia worse than anything else had that day. But he simply kept tearing up his shirt. When he had enough strips, he bent to cover her legs in the worst parts. Olivia hissed in pain.

"I'm sorry," he apologized over and over, until she was all tied up. She was feeling lightheaded from the pain and sank down to the ground.

"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"Look around you," she muttered, sweeping her hand out. "That's what's wrong. Everything!"

"Everything," he murmured, spreading out to lay down next to her. She realized his entire right side was covered in scratches and was oozing blood.

"You should have used some of the bandages," she said accusingly.

"It doesn't matter. Like you said, I'm going to die."

They lay silent for a moment, cool under the blood and the night sky, but warm in each others' heat.

"What comes after, do you think?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know. I thought, for a while, that there would be nothing. That's always possible. I considered re-incarnation, but now there's no humans left to give birth to re-incarnate into. Heaven defies all laws of logic, but here and now, it's too hard to believe they aren't all somewhere better."

They lay there in silence for a while. Olivia's vision started swimming slightly, and it was harder to draw in breath.

"Soon," she rasped. Peter didn't respond, just shifted his body closer to her until he could wrap his arms around her, pulling her in.

"You won't be alone," he finally. "I'm right here. And I won't leave you."

She stared up into his green eyes, flecked with gold and silver. It felt so good to be with someone, to not be alone. She couldn't handle it alone. Somehow, her lips found their way to his. It was a kiss born of desperation, but a kiss none the less. She closed her eyes, forgetting everything. His lips tasted so familiar, his without opening her eyes, she could envision the arms around her.

"John," she murmured, pulling her lips away from his for a minute. He froze and she opened her eyes and it wasn't John, it was Peter, but was it? It was hard to focus on him, he kept swimming and he had Peter's eyes and John's hair and… She mentally hit herself and her vision snapped back into focus. Oh yeah, the end was soon.

Peter leaned his head back, but kept his arms around her. She was cold, lying in all the blood. Blood that was slowly draining out of her body and stealing her life with it. She had never come this close to death before. It hurt so bad, thinking of everyone she had lost. But soon she wouldn't have to think about them. Soon, she wouldn't have to think about anything.

"I want to die first," she whispered. "Please, please let me die first."

"Of course," he whispered. "You can die first."

"I knew you'd say that, John," she smiled, her eyes hazy and clouded. "I know you'll take good care of Walter and Peter for me. Thank you."

"You're… you're welcome," he said in a low voice, barely able to push the words past the lump in his throat.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he replied, and though he meant it, he felt disgusted with himself. He knew it wasn't a lie, what she had said, but it wasn't meant for him. It was meant for her dead partner. Her dead lover. What he said wasn't a lie, either, though. And he knew who she was.

"Peter?" she asked, her eyes clearing.

"Yes?"

"Don't forget me."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he said, his voice breaking. He could feel the tears running down his face.

She smiled up at him. "Peter. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice when I die."

"You remember the time we went to the bar to interview that guy? And you told me about how you counted cards. We did card tricks and got completely drunk and…"

He talked and talked. Slowly her eyes closed as she fell asleep. He kept talking, about his life and her life and the time they had spent together. He talked about Astrid, and Walter, and Broyles, and his mother, and Tessa, and Big Eddie, and just about everyone he could think of. He told her about all the places he had traveled, all the things he had done. Then her chest just stopped. It simply stopped moving against his own. He couldn't hear her breathing.

"Olivia?" he asked. No response. "Olivia!" he yelled up to the sky. "Walter! Where are you? Help me! Help me!"

He looked down at the body clapsed against his chest. Only a few days ago, he had made her laugh, made her smile. She had been… not happy, but alive. Alive and talking and breathing and walking. Everyone had been. And now… Peter screamed, a wordless scream up to the sky. He had loved his father, but never gotten the chance to tell him. He had loved Olivia, but until death, her heart had belonged to John Scott. He was alone in the world, the only person who had ever been truly alone. How had he survived? He didn't know. And if he survived, there might be others.

He staggered to his feet, still holding Olivia to his chest. He swung her up so he could carry her more comfortably, not ready to leave her body behind. Blood burst out of her legs in random spurts now, spurts that dripped down his chest and soaked his burned calves. She was so white and still. So dead.

He talked as he walked, mumbling equations and memories and anything he could think of. His memories seemed blurred, but some stood out sharply. Memories of Olivia. Of Walter. Of food… there were so many good foods he wouldn't ever get to taste again. Wait. What the hell? Food? Was this how Walter felt? Maybe he was always so happy because he secretly believed he would never have another chance. He knew what he had done, he had to face up to it every day. Maybe he just knew that it was the end of the world, but his mind wouldn't except it and made him happy while it still got the chance.

"Walter," he mumbled, dropping to his knees. He picked himself up and kept walking, still holding Olivia close. Then he saw the blond hair and dark skin and lab coat all in a pile. There.

He stumbled over to the bodies of those who had meant something to him. He dragged them out. Rachel and Ella, for Olivia. He lay Astrid (God, she had been laughing at his jokes right before the bomb, laughing and wondering sarcastically where they could find some Berry Boom up there. He would miss her beautiful, beautiful smile) next to Ella and Walter next to Astrid, choking back a sob when he saw the remains of a white toothbrush in his father's coat pocket.

"_White for Walter. That's me!"_

He lay Olivia on the other end of the line next to Rachel. He stood back and admired his handiwork, tears dripping down his face. His whole right side was burning up. He dropped to the ground at the foot of the line, rocking back and forth, muttering useless words. Words could never undo this.

He pulled himself over to Olivia, laying down next to her. Soon the line would be complete. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_I'm insane,_ he thought, laughing to himself. _I'm crazy. And I'm the last of the human race. The insane, crazy human race._

He opened his eyes again, but the world was completely dark.

_That's it,_ he thought. _I'm dead._

And he disappeared.

All across the giant desert, human remains were scattered. No one moved. Babies lay by the elderly, men were strewn across their wives in a last desperate act of protection. All of the human race was here, and everything that came with it. Laughter and sadness and anger. Insanity and jealousy and knowledge. Beauty beyond comparison.

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Bodies disappeared. It took years, but eventually, the last bit of bone crumbled away. Tiny fish-creatures crawled out of the sea and lay gasping on land. Some of them would survive. Some of them would adapt. And billions of years after that, a baby cried in it's mother's arms, swaddeled in a blanket, safe in a hospital.

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Peter opened his eyes. A long, long field stretched out, as far as he could see. Tall grass waved in the wind and trees popped up every 20 feet or so. Sun shined bright, clouds took their time as they drifted across the sky. And the best part was the laughter. Human laughter, filling the air. People were all around. He turned in a full circle, a smile stretching over his face. He had to laugh, too, just for the pure joy of it. And then he saw her. A head of blond. He started to run towards her, but stopped part way. Sadness filled his chest again, but it was a bitter-sweet melancholy. Olivia was walking with a man Peter had only seen once or twice before, but could recognize. Joh Scott. He held one of her hands, Ella clutched the other. Rachel was there, too, as well as Charlie. Peter could've gone to her anyways. She would've been happy to see him. But he knew he would see her again soon, it wouldn't be worth it without her. But, he had his own happily-ever-after. He smiled at her back, his heart broken and mended in the space of a single breath. Then he turned back to where Astrid and Walter waited for him. Walter still had his toothbrush.

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**Review now? Pwetty pwetty pwease? For a cookie? I'm not quite sure how much I like this. It's a little too bloody for me. And yes, I hate obvious coincidences too. Peter survived because of his AU-ness, Olivia survived because of her cortexiphan... I suppose. I don't know. Something like that. Anyways. Review, s'il vous plait!**


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